


Everlast

by IceCewbs



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, probably, there will (probably) be sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceCewbs/pseuds/IceCewbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite their differnces and the ongoing war against the Reapers, a Turian and a Human begin to develop something a little bit like love. Too bad they're both emotional wrecks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Him

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully cute, hopefully awkward.

Yervik didn't know why and he didn't know how, but something was horribly wrong with him.

 

He glared at his clasped hands, elbows carefully balanced on his knees. Yervik internally chastised himself, his subharmonics buzzing with anxiety and tension. 

 

A turian near by glanced at him, her sympathetic look unfortunately misguided. Most everyone was in a constant state of distress, either from lost family or over the hellish wrath of the Reapers as they tore through cities like... what was the human phrase? Butter?

 

That wasn't his problem. Well, not entirely. Sure, he was stressed out over how his brothers messages stopped coming, and that images of his home burning was permanently stamped into his eyelids. His reason for whining was over a girl.

 

A human girl.

 

Yervik cupped his head in his hands, subvocals flanging under his groan. 

 

Peeking through his talons, he peered at the human he'd been avoiding looking at for the past half hour. She was seated in one of the few free seats, her brow furrowed as she read from a datapad.

 

His breath practically choked him.

 

Yervik didn't know if she followed human standards of beauty, nor did he know if she followed turian standards. He never really knew how to quantify beauty. He had been with his fair share of turian women, but never had he thought of them as "good looking".

 

He physically flinched. Okay, that came out wrong, but the point was made. Hell, he didn't even know if he was considered handsome, or, whatever.

 

But this girl... this HUMAN girl... she was stunning. Rich, creamy skin, which reminded Yervik of that one human drink... coffee?

 

He shook his head. Why did he know so much about human food?

 

The next feature that struck him was hard to describe. Her fringe was... curled? A cloud of tight, corkscrew curls. The color captivated him the most, a rich brown dipped in gold and highlighted with bright, Palaven sun. 

 

Don't even get him started on her structure. Long, waifish limbs matched with a cinched waist and flaring hips. 

 

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes following her hand as it pushed a stray curl from her face.

 

Yervik's subharmonics rumbled with discontent, too much anxiety and nervousness bottled up into one turian. This woman was going to be the death of him.

 

The female turian looked from him to the human woman, her mandibles flaring in a grin. "Yervik! You liiiike her!"

 

Yervik growled, his brow plates drawing close. "That's a lie and you know it, Alena."

 

Alena plopped next to him on the crate, practically vibrating with energy. "It's not a lie! You've been staring at her for days!"

 

He didn't warrent that with an answer, neck burning from the rush of blood.

 

Alena shoved on his shoulder, her subvocals in a frenzy. "Go talk to her!"

 

Yervik started, whipping around to face her, hissing. "Are you crazy!? No!"

 

Alena whined, draping herself over him. "Do it! Vik, c'mon, pleeeaaase?"

 

He untangled himself from her grasp, sighing. "No, A. I don't even know her."

 

Alena pouted, mandibles dropping. 

 

His eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare, that doesn't work on me anymore."

 

She whimpered softly, her harmonics dripping with piteous pleas and begging. 

 

Yervik lasted about two seconds, snarling deep in his chest and standing. "Fine! Fine, I'll talk to her. Just... stop... all that." He motioned vaguely at her face.

 

Alena immediately brighten, bouncing up to envelop him in a hug. "Yes! I always win."

 

He drooped, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, you do, A. You're lucky you're my favorite sister."

 

"I'm you're only sister."

 

"Thank Spirits for that-- Ow! Hey, watch it!"

 

Alena bounced away giggling, finding a good vantage point and waggling her talons at him in a mock-wave.

 

Yervik groaned, rubbing his crest free of the dull ache from the blow Alena dealt him. 

 

With a shuddering breath, he faced his certain doom.

 

 


	2. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy.

Something was wrong and she knew exactly what it was, not that she could do much about it.

 

Her nose crinkled at the datapad, huffing under her breath. Damn ships, damn ports, damn cargo. Everyone was in a frenzy over the war, and causing havoc with her shipping lines.  _Her shipping lines._

 

Jo rubbed the stress from her forehead, legs crossing as she leaned back in her chair, eyeing the refugee camp. 

 

A quick glance reassured her the turian was still there. It was nice to have him around, someone familiar. Not that they'd ever interacted, no, but he was a familiar face in the writhing mass of refugee life. With a frown, she noted how distressed he looked, his head dropping as he sat on an empty cargo crate.

 

Jo shook her head, looking back at her datapad to scan the statistics. She shouldn't let herself be distracted by turians she didn't know. No matter how cute they are despite the gray-black plates, or how nice their eyes look...

 

Jo cracked her knuckles, waving away her drifting thoughts. She certainly had no time to pine after strange turians, not with docks and shipping workers under her command and care... And damanding paid vacation to spend time with their families... or when they ship the wrong crate of ammo to the wrong people who do not desire to return it...

 

Jo rubbed at her brow, feeling a headache come on. She pushed hair from her face, a long digit  momentarily catching in the delicate curl.

 

She saw something through the hazy orange of the datapad that made adrenaline rush to her toes and back.

 

The turian. And all of his broad shouldered dreaminess. _  
_

 

Jo fanned herself, huffing under her breath. "Death of me."

 

She appraised him, noting that he looked... nervous. Had he noticed her staring? Was he coming to confront her about it? 

Her toes clenched as he walked closer, making herself as small as possible, and giving no clue she was watching him through the opaque screen.

 

He stood akwardly before her, shifting from foot to foot, jaw working with the indesicion of what words to pick.

 

Tossing worries to the wind, she shoved the datapad to her lap and stuck out her hands for a handshake, smiling crookedly. 

 

"Joesphine Florez, what can I do for ya?"

 

 


	3. Him

Oh spirits, they'd made eye contact. 

 

She'd seen him.

 

Yervik's stomach boiled as he marched to the goddess in gold,, watching as her lips coiled into a smile.

 

He flicked his brow plates, frowning. Humans were so strange. Their faces were too stretchy, transforming into too complex of expressions to comprehend. Even their sign of greeting and affection was to bare teeth. So aggressive.

 

Yervik rattled back to the present, jerking bodily. Panicking, he searched her face for how long he'd been standing like a complete moron, staring dumbly at her as he idly wondered about her teeth.

 

The human brought a hand to her mouth, eyes crinkling at the corners and she giggled. Yeah, definitely strange.

 

Yervik stared for a beat more, before clearing his throat and turning away, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Floundering for words, Vik looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I, uh..."

 

She laughed, setting the datapad on her lap. "You're quite the conversationalist, aren't you?"

 

The blush claimed more of his skin.

 

Propping her arm up, she rested her cheek on her knuckles. She waved for him to seat himself. "Do you need something or just want to talk?  
"

Yervik plopped into the seat half a size too small, leg jittering. He cleared his throat again and looked down, speaking quickly. "Just to talk. You looked, uh, bored? I'm not very good with human emotions... uh, if you don't want to talk, I can go. You do look pretty busy, so I'll, uh, just be--"

 

He grimaced and stood up, only to fall back into his seat when she laughed and waved him back down.

 

She was laughing at him? He frowned, mandibles drooping dejectedly.

 

Leaning forward to pat the hand stiffly placed on his knee, she grinned. "I'm not laughing at you bud, I just think you're cute."

 

"Cute?" The blush rushed back. 

 

She nodded absently, gold flaked eyes fixed on him. "What's your name?"

 

"Yervik. Uh, you can call me Vik if you want, but, uh..." He grimaced, scratching at his neck. "My sister calls me that."

 

She pursed her lips, tapping her knuckles on the armrest. His mind immediately focused on the delicate band of metal around one of her fingers, his avian instincts attracted to the shine. 

 

"I like Yervik better. Or maybe I'll find a nicer nickname for you."

 

He sunk into the chair. "Wh...whatever works for you."

 

She paused, looking at him thoughtfully.

 

Yervik avoided eye contact, turning his head to display his fringe. With a jerk, he quickly righted his head, embarrassed he'd even subconsciously thought that she would understand turian courting customs. 

 

He could damn near taste the blush that clawed at his throat.

 

"I'm Jo." 

 

He looked at her, resisting the urge to scrape his teeth on the inside of his mouth. "Jo. Sounds... pretty." 

 

He sunk further into his seat, praying to every spirit and god he could think of in hopes she didn't take offense.

 

Instead, she blessed him with that too aggressive, too human, too beautiful smile. "Thank you."

 

Yervik practically melted into his seat. "Y-yeah."

 

Jo checked her datapad for the time, frowning. "Shoot, I need to go meet a client." 

 

She stood, hastily packing her things into a small back that she slung over her shoulder.

 

Yervik's mandibles drooped, looking down to watch his own talon tap on his knee. "Ah, that's... bye."

 

Jo put a hand on her hip, chucking. "What? Not gonna ask me for my number?"

 

Yervik could have sworn he died. "Number?" 

 

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah, numb-nuts, my number. Unless you don't want to see me again?"

 

"No!" He cringed. "I-I mean... uh, yes. Could I have your number?"

 

Jo chewed her lip as she smiled, typing it onto his omnitool. "Call me when you want. Or don't." 

 

She graced him with one last smile before turning and waltzing into the crowd, clouded by hundreds of bouncing curls.

 

Yervik stared at his omnitool, dazed. He'd just gotten a number? Her number? Jo's number?

 

Dear Spirits, she'd be the death of him sooner than he'd thought.


	4. Her

He was  _perfect._

 

Jo bit her lip as she walked briskly away, resisting the urge to glance behind her to check if he was watching her go. Hell, she even tossed in a little hip swaying.

 

 _Would a Turian even find that sexy?_ She mused, continuing to worry her lip. 

 

With a hop in her step, she danced to her meeting. 

 

__________

 

"God dammit!"

 

She hissed in pain, balancing on one foot as she glared at the bedroom door with a sizable dent in the brittle wood.

 

Scowling, Jo walked gingerly to her couch, plopping down to inspect her hurt toe. In hindsight, kicking the door was a bad idea, but it made her feel better. Okay, that was a lie. Now she was just angry and her foot hurt.

 

"Not my fault the guy _lost_  an entire months worth of dextro rations for half of the refugees." She grit her teeth, gently pulling away the shoe.  She could almost taste her fury, the helpless look on the human man's face as he clutched at his hat and stuttered like he was asking her to prom. 

 

Jo threw the shoe at the wall, huffing as she pressed gently against the bruised flesh, checking for breaks. Geez, how hard had she hit the poor door?

 

Slumping into the couch with her foot resting on the coffee table, she sank into the long-abused cushions. Scratching at her jaw, she pondered where the shipment could have gone. Could it have been left at the last dock? Dammit, that was all the way back on one of the many Turian colony planets. She'd have to call the dock manager in the morning--

 

_Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!_

 

Jo blinked, plans falling away as she pulled up her omnitool interface, messages from an unknown user flashing insistently in the corner of the display.

 

6589: _Hey. It's me, Vervik._

6589:  _The Turian from the refugee camp?_

6589:  _I was just wondering if you wanted to talk?_

6589:   _Unless you don't want to, that's perfectly fine._ _  
_

 

Jo smiled. Damn could he type fast. She tapped away at the glowing keys, registering him into her contacts. Jo switched through names for him, trying to find the right one.

 

Jo:  _just got off work. whats up?_ _  
_

Vikki:  _Just sitting around. Guarding. Like guards do._

Jo:  _is that what you do? gaurd?_

Jo:  _*guard_

Veri-beari:  _Yeah. Where's your work?_

Jo:  _one of the dock managers. I manage what comes in and out of dock 7_ _  
_

Hot Alien:  _That's a pretty big job. Probably better than making sure angry refugees don't tear out each other's throats._

Jo:  _youre job is plenty important. people are high-strung, given whats going on. you give a little bit of order to that_

Very Hot Alien:  _Yeah, I guess my job is pretty important._

Jo:  _getting cocky now, arent we?_ _  
_

Bird:  _No._

Cute Bird:  _Yes._

Very Cute Bird:  _Is this a trick question?_

Jo:  _dont worry about it_

Dork:  _That just makes me worry more._

Jo:  _yeah yeah, get back to work_

Nerd:  _Yes ma'am._

 

She leaned back into the couch, grinning. He was  _perfect._


	5. Him

Vervik allowed himself to breathe, powering down his omnitool. He dragged a clawed hand over the plates of his face, clamping his mandibles tight to his face to keep from grinning like a fool. Jo had answered him. Answered _him._ While he wasn't too new to the dating game, there had been one or two instances of omnikeys leading to rejection hotlines and unfortunate aliens who happened to have their number dumped on the bumbling turian. 

 

But she answered him! And seemed interested!

 

...Maybe. Vervik wasn't too good with human interaction. A few classes on aggression and lying, sure, but not anything quite capable of having this situation. Oh, Palavan, how would he ask her on a date? Did he treat her like a turian? Were there weird human courting customs he was unaware of? His gloved hands gripped at his desk, he neck heating in distress. 

 

Vik's head whipped up when a great crash sounded from one of the many refugee camps, followed by yelling. With a sigh, he shook off his doubts and rose from his desk to resolve the issue. 

 

\----

 

Days passed. Fights broke out, refugees poured into the Citadel, and shortages on dextro food rumbled painfully in the stomachs of turians and the handful of quarians that frequented the camps. Vervik was not exempt from this, as rationing was especially high among the turian guards. Cultural pride or some bullshit. All Vervik knew was that he was cranky and hungry and too damn proud to accept the meals grateful refugees had offered him. 

 

Vervik allowed himself to smile while he scanned his sector lazily. He and Jo had been messaging back and forth, mostly banter. She would sometimes stop by his desk to chat. She would laugh at his dumb jokes and ask him about work. Just small talk. It make Vik's days pass easier. Jo would sit by his desk, working on paperwork or reports. When she thought he wasn't looking, she's slip a ration into his pack.

 

Vervik sighed dreamily, thinking of the golden halo of curls, the slight twist of her lips, and how her eyes sparkled with mischief. She was gold, bronze, topaz, every precious gem in the galaxy. Polished, shining, but not perfect. No, he was not unrealistic enough to not recognize her faults. Jo cracked her knuckles, which caused Vik to flinch because  _bones do not do that oh my god._ And she cursed like a sailor, which would cause his mother to howl and scold like the matriarch she was.

 

Thinking of his mother made Vik's eye's burn. Her last message was short and too long ago for his comfort. His whole family was... unable to keep in contact with him. And no matter how much time and funds he threw into the cause of finding out about any of their whereabouts, his family remained in limbo. Well, all except his sister. 

 

His eyes swept to A, sleeping in their shared crate called home. It was deep into the nightcycle, and she'd worked all day acting as a runner for the camp guards. Water, food, documents. Alena was exhausted, a mix of nightmares and hard work had her skin sunken between her plates and her eyes stained blue at the corners from agitated veins. She had crashed on the cot, arm splayed over her eyes and mouth hung open in a snore.

 

Vervik smiled sadly. A was still a kid, but she was growing up. Growing up in a bad, dangerous universe. 

 

He grit his teeth, feeling generally useless in the grand scheme of things. What was he? A guard in charge of a small corner of one of many camps holding the galaxy's runaways. Widows, orphans, grieving families. He could do nothing to help them other than make sure their stuff wasn't stolen and rowdier aliens kept from bruising each other over a game of cards.

 

Vik scoffed. How petty. Didn't they know that each time they injured themselves, they were stealing medigel from the injured? The sick? The soldiers? Life was too stubborn to die, but too violent for the survival to be peaceful. 

 

_ping!_

 

Vervik jumped out of his plates, fumbling for his omnitool. His gloomy mood fell away as he opened the message from Jo.

 

His mood immediately fell, standing up so fast his chair fell back. 

 

Rushing to the exit, he only slowed briefly to make eye contact and nod to his boss, who recognized the urgency and motioned for a human on break to take his place.

 

His subvocals screaming in distress, he rushed toward Jo's home.

 


	6. Him

Jo:  _help_

 

_\------------_

 

Vervik's breath came in puffs, even with his turian endurance and lungs strengthened from the thin atmosphere of Palaven. His boots clacked noisily as he rushed through the housing developments of the Citadel, mind racing with possibilities. With a quick glance at his omnitool for directions, Vik skid to a half to take a sharp right down an alley.

 

Coming to the blander section, Vervik nearly collapsed against her door. Sucking in air, part nerves and part exhaustion, his hand shook as he knocked on the door.

 

A soft voice answered. It was barely audible, and Vik took it as an invitation to enter. His eyes scoped the room, military training pressuring him to check corners for enemies. His nose caught up with his eyes, the heavy scent of human blood chilling him to the bones. Subvocals thrilling with distress, he threw himself into the room. 

 

The smell clung heavy to the air, leading Vervik to the kitchen. He nearly shrieked in disbelief and horror, his jaw slacking instead.

 

"That was fast," Jo smiled, her eyes wobbling with too-human tears. She was sat on the floor, huddled against the cabinets. Blood was smeared on the tiles and counters, flowing steadily from her hands and knees. Jagged shards of glass decorated the floor, in a pool of human alcohol. Glass marred her skin, blood tearing from gashes in her palms and knees. Vervik stood, bile rising in his throat.

 

"I, uh..." She waved a hand at the mess of glass and alcohol, then a hand at her swollen and bruised foot. "My foot's hurt. Stepped on it funny, and well... dropped the bottle." 

 

He eyed the smashed bottle. "Are you drunk?"

 

"What? No!" Jo looked startled, frowning. "God, no, I'd never drink alcohol as shitty as this."

 

"It all smells pretty bad to me." Rotten fruit and yeast were not a good combo.

 

She scowled. "My friend-- with shitty taste --was coming to visit. I-I was getting it ready for her... Oh god, she's going to be here in a hour, oh god."

 

Spurred into action, Vik rung his hands. "W-What do I do?"

 

She tried to stand, wincing. "Can you help me up onto the counter?"

 

With a moments hesitation, he settled his hands on her waist to hoist her onto the counter. "Now what?"

 

"Glass." Blood dripped from her toes.

 

"Right, uh, right." Vervik delicately pulled slivers of glass from her knees, cooing softly when she flinched. He moved onto her hands, gritting his teeth to hear her whimper in pain.

 

Jo sucked in a breath. "Okay... okay..." She scrubbed a hand ovet her face. "I'll wash off the blood and you can... clean up the glass."

 

He nodded, dutifully plucking glass from the tile. Heavy silence hung in the air, Jo scrubbing at the torn skin of her knees with a damp cloth, thick human blood soaking into the rag. Turian blood was much thinner than human blood. Thinner veins required thinner blood, and plates kept most injuries to a minimum. 

 

He mopped up the alcohol, tossing the rag into the wastechute. Jo's followed quickly after. Vervik dispensed medigel from the station on the wall, rubbing the stinging gel into the gashes. 

 

"Thanks." Jo smiled weakly, voice catching, her eyes dripping in their odd human fashion.

 

"Did I hurt you?" Vik jumped away, hands held close to his chest, harmonics thrumming with distress. 

 

She laughed, wiping at her eyes. "No, I... I'm fine. I'm just glad you're here." 

 

Vervik sagged in relief, praising every spirit. "Okay... good,"

 

Jo grabbed the front of his civvies, pulling him close to wrap him in a hug.

 

Vik wished he could say the hug was perfect. Unfortunately, his mandible caught in her curls, his breastbone bumped awkwardly against her chest, and blood from her clothes soaked into his. But spirits forbid if he didn't relish in the warmth of her skin and the pleasant scent of her. She was glowing and comforting and  _holy shit was he in deep._

 

He keened in regret when the hug ended.

 

Jo smiled again, gracing him in light. "Thank you, really."

 

"It was nothing." God, Vik, you're so lame. 

 

Jo wrinkled her nose. "I need to change, my clothes are soaked. Thank you, Vik, really."

 

Vik nodded, mandibles fluttering in a shy smile. "I guess I'll go then."

 

Jo patted his shoulder, using him to drag herself off the counter. She limped to the door, favoring her swollen foot. Opening it and standing awkwardly in front of him, she smiled. "I, uh... bye?"

 

"Bye," Vik scurried out the door, blush creeping up his throat. What just happened? Did she want him to stay?  _Oh spirits,_  did she expect a kiss? Ah, fuck, Vik, you're a real romantic guy. Stupid, stupid...

 

Vervik stalked home, harmonics alight with doubt. 

 

Damn, it just was not his night.


	7. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for lack of updates. I don't know how to write the non-gays.

Ezra was practically bubbling with excitement, clutching at Jo's hands. "What's he like? Is he tall? Is he handsome?"

 

Jo smiled wearily, extracting her hands from Ezra's over-enthusiastic grasp before the cuts reopened. "He's... nice."

 

Ezra frowned, pressing her hands to her cheeks to squish the blue flesh, brows drawing in in a frown. "You hesitated."

 

Jo patted the Asari's knee reassuringly. "He's very sweet, he's just a bit shy. And nervous."

 

Ezra's eyes narrowed breifly, before flinging herself back into cheeriness, quite literally. Jo found herself pinned to the arm of the battered couch, the Asari's arms trapping her.

 

"I'm so happy for you!" Ezra gushed into the woman's hair, leaning heavily on her. Jo smiled, trying to nonchalantly readjust her swiftly numbing leg from under the asari. 

 

Ezra gripped Jo's shoulders, holding her at arms length. "Have you kissed him yet? A date? Oh!" She leaned in close, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Inappropriate touching? _Sex?_ "

 

Jo's face flushed, nearly jumping out of her skin. "God, no! No! None of that, I barely know him!"

 

Ezra cast a hand over her forehead dramatically, her voice mockingly breathy. "Josephine, do I have to call your  _mother?_ "

 

Jo shoved the Asari's shoulder as she laughed, the human crossing her arms and huffing poutily. "You're so mean, Ezra."

 

"Well, I'm just looking out for my friend." Ezra absent-mindedly reached for her wineglass, frowning as she found it empty. "Oh, shoot, I drank it all."

 

Jo rubbed her knee. "Yeah, sorry, I, uh, dropped it."

 

Ezra smiled, setting the glass down. "Don't worry, I have more at home." She frowned, glancing at the time on the stove. "Speaking of which, I should probably head out."

 

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Gathering up the empty wine glasses, Jo stood. 

 

The Asari donned her coat, largely unneeded on the temperature regulated space station, but Ezra was infatuated with the human fashion of fur collars. Plus, it covered the nasty scar stretching across her throat. Jo didn't ask, Ezra didn't tell. 

 

Depositing the glasses in the sink, Jo placed a quick kias on her friend's cheek. "Get home safe."

 

Ezra wiggled her brows, drawn on in an attempt of human fashion. Asari highschools ate up newest human trends, and Ezra hadn't grown out of it. "Keep me updated on your turian lover. I want to know all the details, especially the juicy ones."

 

"Ezra!" Jo could hear her cackling as she exited the small apartment, the sound bouncing off of the empty hallway walls.

 

Jo slumped onto the couch, rubbing the lines from her forehead. Ezra was fun, but not quite the relaxing type. Just as she was going to stand up, a message sounded from her omni-tool.

 

Settling back, she flicked on the interface, opening a message from Vervick.

 

_V: How you feeling?_

_J: better. a little sore but better_

_V: That's good to hear._

_J: whats up with you?_

_V: Work. Taking a break right now, just checking up on you and my sister._

_J: hows she doing?_

_V: Works too hard, she's a good kid. She's trying to detract herself, guess I am too._

_J: trying to detract from anything aside from the obvious?_

_V: My parents and most of my family. I haven't heard from them in too long, and the only family I am certain I still have is my sister._

_J: jeez, thats stressful. i cant really relate_

_V: Why not?_

_J: i dont know my family. grew up on the streets of some city in earth._

_V: I'm sorry._

_J: dont be, i dont know any better. both a blessing and a curse i guess_

_J: i hope you hear from your family soon_

_V: Thank you, me too. It just worries me, not hearing from them._

_J: how about i help you worry a little less,_

_V: I don't understand._

_J: woah that came out weird. i meant a date, lets go on a date_

_V: Are you asking me out?_

_J: yes_

_J: no_

_J: is this a trick question?_

_V: Don't make fun of me._

_J: im offended youd even suggest id stoop so low_

_V: Yes._

_J: yes what?_

_V: I'll go on a date with you_

_J: okay cool, ill make it a surprise_

_V: I'm not fond of surprises._

_J: youll like this one i promise. when are you free next??_

_V: Noon tomorrow._

_J: ill pick you up then, so be ready!!!_

_V: I will be. See you then._

_J: see you there, dollface._

 

\-----

 

Not too far away, a Turian stared at the orange glow of his omni-tool as the night-cycle began, casting the refugee camp into shadow. Nervously, he pulled at his sweat-soaked collar and gulped. 

 

This woman will eat him alive. And spirits was he more than fine with that.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
